


The Painting of Eileen Prince

by fernandesjulia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family Drama, It's a bit sad, Mother-Son Relationship, Severus Snape Lives, Spiritual, but the end it's nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernandesjulia/pseuds/fernandesjulia
Summary: After the death of Mr. West – last legatee of the Prince family – in June 1999, the Ministry of Magic decides to give his inheritance to Severus Snape, who is the last and rightful descent of the family.Stepping in Prince Manor for the very first time, Snape finds a painting of his mother hanging on the wall of her old studio, and thoughts about Eileen Prince plague him.
Kudos: 5





	The Painting of Eileen Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [O Quadro de Eileen Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875534) by [fernandesjulia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernandesjulia/pseuds/fernandesjulia). 



> Nothing that belongs to Harry Potter's universe is mine. It's all J.K. Rowling's; I only borrow it. Ah, english isn't my first language, I tried my best. This is a translation of my drabble call "O Quadro de Eileen Prince".
> 
> 1st place in Drabbles' category at the First Fanfictions' Contest of Severo Snape Fanfictions group.

The Prince Manor was among the three properties I’d inherited from old Mr. West. It wasn’t inhabit for many years, and this justified the weeds in the house’s old garden, the sludge that seemed to swallow the stones of the façade and the thick layer of dust that covered the furniture that were still there.

I might reform this carcase and transform it into a shelter to children who are just like I was. Outcasts of this filthy society, victims of world’s neglect, of their mothers’ depression and of the fists of the ones whom they should call father.

My steps echoed over the marble floor when I found the studio. I knew it had belonged to my mother. Eileen used to love painting, perhaps it was her biggest passion. The grey dominated the whole room, the greatest part of frames and canvas that were still there were all moth-eaten, waiting for Eileen Prince’s brushstrokes that never came.

Hanging on the wall, the painting, even though was morbid, seemed to bring some light to that abandoned house – a feat of the unusual beauty of young Eileen’s image. The dust over the frame only left a glimpse of what would be the golden tint on wood and the painting’s colours were no longer, not even from far, so alive as before, because time already had done its job of damage the varnish layer. 

I couldn’t say if the self-portrait was reliable, because in the oldest memories I have my mother already had had given up to that inhuman life she used to carry beside Tobias, in the unkempt little house at Spinner’s End. A sad laughter escaped my lips when I realized how marriage and motherhood had complete destroyed her.

I hated my mother for very long. I hated her for her apathy and cowardice. Why? I always asked it myself. Why did she get involved with a man like Tobias? Why did she allow her body to be object of constantly assaults? Why didn’t she take her goddam wand - which I knew it was hidden – and put an end to her husband?

It has been needed to grow old and passed, consequently, through psychologic and emotional maturation to understand the choices and attitudes of my mother. Far from apathy and cowardice, there was a really brave and strong woman. She couldn’t just leave when she used to financially depend of Tobias. She suffered my father’s hard words and closed fists, but ensured a house and food to me, her only child.

Besides that, what really pushed me away from the bottomless pit which was hating my mother was realized that, by loathe her, I was becoming just like Tobias. And I could never be a man like him.

I wish that she was still here. I wish to know what she thinks about her ex-Death Eater son, a spy for almost twenty years, victim of a war that almost took me from this world. This same so cruel world that had destroyed my mother and took her from me.

A very familiar roses smell came through my nostrils. I allowed myself to smile. She was there.

She was always there.


End file.
